


You Just Might Find

by lco123



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 10:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10942410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lco123/pseuds/lco123
Summary: Melissa gets the message when she least expects it. Charlotte—Baby Charlotte, notCharlotteCharlotte—is fussing, as she always does in the mornings, and Melissa is in the process of warming up her bottle when her phone beeps.She nearly drops it when she checks the text. It’s a picture of Charlotte—CharlotteCharlotte,herCharlotte—in sweat clothes and a ponytail, sitting in a small, sparsely appointed bunker. The text below reads:Do you still have time to save her?Companion piece to You Get What You Need. Melissa and Charlotte's side of the story.





	You Just Might Find

**Author's Note:**

> So, I did not at all anticipate that this would end up being longer than You Get What You Need, but apparently I had a lot of feelings about Melissa and Charlotte! This story would not exist were it not for speakpirate's fabulous MeCe fic All the Things That Used to Matter. Please go read that if you haven't already.
> 
> Also, a couple of quick notes. The show has been vague about whether or not Melissa and Cece/Charlotte knew each other once A was active. My interpretation may not be entirely reflective of canon. Also, the timeline may be slightly wonky because this is a fic set in the PLL verse, where November can last for two seasons and memory is entirely interpretive. This fic has been written and posted before the reveal of A.D., so whoever is eventually revealed to be A.D. is not referred to by name. I'm using he/him/his pronouns in my "The Secret"-like attempt to will the show to finally and permanently vilify a male character.
> 
> Finally, flashbacks are in italics.

Melissa gets the message when she least expects it. Charlotte—Baby Charlotte, not _Charlotte_ Charlotte—is fussing, as she always does in the mornings, and Melissa is in the process of warming up her bottle when her phone beeps.

She nearly drops it when she checks the text. It’s a picture of Charlotte— _Charlotte_ Charlotte, _her_ Charlotte—in sweat clothes and a ponytail, sitting in a small, sparsely appointed bunker. The text below reads: _Do you still have time to save her?_

Baby Charlotte’s bottle gets cold on the counter as Melissa makes a call. 

Miles Corwin, her father’s old P.I., is still in business. “I can try to trace the photograph,” he says. “But it would be helpful to have someone with more hacking experience.”

Melissa doesn’t think twice before contacting Mona Vanderwaal.

\--

_Melissa was at a party at the Kahn cabin, drinking something awful and fruity out of a red solo cup and staring at Ian Thomas, who she was determined was going to ask her out before the night was through. She hated this party, hated that Ian was playing beer pong instead of paying attention to her, hated that she had graduated but was still surrounded by people she’d gone to high school with._

_She knew everyone here, which should have been comforting but was mostly just annoying. The only stranger was the pretty blonde girl who seemed to be Eric’s girlfriend. Melissa probably should have mustered up some latent jealousy, considering that she and Eric had dated off and on for the majority of junior year. But she was mostly just curious as to how Eric had managed to find someone to date who Melissa didn’t know._

_Melissa was over near the drinks table, glaring at Ian, when the blonde girl walked over. “Hey,” the girl said. “You’re Ian’s girlfriend, right?”_

_“Yeah,” Melissa lied, because it was only a matter of time before that was the truth. “What’s your name?”_

_The girl set down her red solo cup so she could shake Melissa’s hand. “I’m Cece. Cece Drake.”_

_Melissa nodded, dropping Cece’s hand. “I’m—”_

_“Melissa,” Cece supplied. “I know who you are.” When Melissa arched an eyebrow, Cece added, “You’re a_ Hastings _.”_

_Melissa smiled, privately pleased at the recognition. “You’re right. You’re here with Eric?”_

_“Yeah,” Cece confirmed. “He’s mentioned you, once or twice.”_

_“It wasn’t serious,” Melissa told her. Normally she would feel a little weird that a complete stranger seemed to know something about her love life. But Cece spoke so casually, so confidently, that Melissa found she didn’t really mind._

_“I’m not worried about competition, if that’s what you think.” Cece grinned. “Besides, it’s not like Eric is some prize.”_

_“He’s cute,” Melissa said noncommittally. “And nice enough.”_

_Cece snorted. “Yeah, when he’s not so drunk that he can’t remember his manners.” She shook her head. “Whatever. He’s fine. He’s a Kahn, and that’s all that matters.”_

_Melissa crossed her arms. “You seem more concerned with family names than actual people.”_

_“Like you’re not?” Cece replied. “Don’t tell me that Ian Thomas of all people sets your heart on fire. But he’s a Thomas, right? So that’s what’s important.”_

_Melissa scowled. “Who_ are _you?”_

_Cece shrugged. “A person who knows what she wants.” She took a drink from her cup before offering it to Melissa. There was shiny pink lipgloss on the rim, a lighter shade than Cece’s._

_“You really shouldn’t pick up someone else’s drink,” Melissa commented, setting the cup down without taking a sip. “There might be a roofie or something in there.”_

_“Suit yourself,” Cece said. “But I’d know if I’d been drugged.”_

_Melissa wanted to ask her how, or to point out that Cece hadn’t adequately answered her previous question. But just then, Eric floated over to them, looking so out of it that he didn’t even seem to recognize Melissa. “Babe, I’m gonna order some pizza,” he said to Cece. “You want anything?”_

_Cece angled into his side, her face rearranging itself into a guileless smile. There was definitely a performative element to it, but not in the way Melissa was used to. She had seen plenty of girls play-act possessiveness to cover up jealousy; hell, she was a master at that game. But with Cece, it seemed to be about something else._

_“Pizza sounds great!” Cece trilled. She turned her face toward Melissa while still keeping her arms around Eric. Her grin was still in place, but her eyes were lit up and intense. Like the two of them were sharing a secret._

_“Melissa, what do_ you _want?”_

\--

“It’s definitely from A.D.,” Mona tells her over the phone. “I can’t get a trace on where the photograph was taken, or exactly when, but I’ve combed through his bank accounts, and he owned some property in Mexico. I’d say it’s a safe bet that Charlotte is there. Or was.”

“A.D. is dead,” Melissa states, running a hand through her hair. Baby Charlotte is sleeping, so she’s trying to get as much done as possible while she can.

“He had a lot of people working for him,” Mona points out. “Plus some pretty incredible software. It’s entirely possible that he set this up long before his death.”

“For what reason?” Melissa asks. “He had to know I’d look for her.”

“Yeah,” Mona says quietly. Melissa hasn’t told her much, but to call Mona smart would be an understatement; she’s surely figured out why Melissa is searching for Charlotte so frantically.

Melissa huffs out a breath. “Can you even be certain she’s still alive?”

“No,” Mona replies. “But the image was taken and sent with a phone that’s only been on the market for the last eight months.

“So if she is dead, it didn’t happen when we think it happened. It happened recently. And it couldn’t have been A.D. himself who did it.”

“Exactly,” Mona says.

“Or she’s still alive,” Melissa adds. Mona doesn’t say anything, but she can probably hear the hopefulness tinging Melissa’s statement. “So, what do I do? Just show up in Mexico and start poking around?”

“Are you actually asking for my advice?” Mona asks, sounding vaguely pleased.

“I’ll take it, at this point,” Melissa admits. “I don’t really think it’s in your best interest to steer me wrong.”

“You’re right,” Mona will allow. “I’ll send you the information about A.D.’s properties. You can start there. Knowing Charlotte, if she figured a way out, she’s probably on the move.”

“Thank you,” Melissa says, more grateful than she’s ever been for the existence of Mona. “And Spencer can’t know about this. Or Hanna, okay?”

Mona hesitates, but then says, “Okay.”

“I’ll send you a check this week,” Melissa promises. “A big one.”

“No need,” Mona assures her. “This one’s a freebie.”

Melissa frowns. “Since when do you give out freebies?”

“Charlotte had a rough go of it,” Mona explains. “I know what it was like in Radley. I got a second chance. She should too.”

\--

 _A few months later they were at another party. Melissa and Ian were on a break, so she and Cece had come together. Not_ together _together, but together as friends. Which is what they were._

 _It was a little strange for Melissa. She’d never had friends before. Acquaintances, sure, but not friends._ Spencer _had friends, and Melissa had always seen them as a liability. A boyfriend on your arm could get you somewhere. That could eventually turn into a diamond ring, a measure of status. A friend? That was just another person to fight with, another person who could use your secrets against you._

_But Cece was different. She wasn’t around all the time, for one thing. She and Melissa would spend weeks apart, not talking or even texting, and then Cece would call her out of the blue, suggesting a day trip to New York or urging Melissa to swipe her mother’s entry card to The Club._

_Whenever they did see each other, Cece was a wonderful conversationalist. Bright and witty, with stories that often teetered the line into fabulist territory but which were so entertaining that Melissa didn’t call her out on them. She could go toe-to-toe with Melissa intellectually, which was a rarity and a welcome change. But just when Melissa was ready to write her off as self-centered, Cece would start asking Melissa about her life, and whether it was a performance or not, she seemed to be genuinely interested in what Melissa had to say._

_Melissa didn’t bring Cece around the house, because she could just imagine her family getting their hooks into her; Spencer peppering Cece with inane questions while their parents interrogated her about her family and aspirations. Melissa might have had questions of her own, but she found they didn’t really matter, not when she was enjoying herself so much. Cece was just Cece, and Melissa wasn’t going to waste their time together by second-guessing._

_Tonight’s party was being hosted at the Campbell family farm, a hulking estate that made the Hastings house seem tiny by comparison. Melissa didn’t know much about Kevin Campbell, just that his family was rich and that he had a younger brother in Spencer’s grade. Alex or Andrew, something like that. Melissa had gone apple picking at the farm as a child, but the trees looked vaguely spooky at night. Especially after a few drinks._

_She and Cece had split off from the rest of the party and were wandering through the orchard. It was dark enough that Melissa probably wouldn’t have gone off on her own, but she felt safe with Cece there. Cece had snagged a bottle of almost-full white wine off the drinks table inside, and they passed it back and forth as they walked._

_“This place seems so different now,” Melissa murmured, looking up through the trees toward the sky. “Like, when you’re a kid, you don’t think about how a place will look when you’re older.”_

_“Mmm hmm.” Cece handed the bottle back to Melissa and kept walking. She had been a little quieter than usual tonight, but Melissa attributed that to her recent breakup with Eric. Not that Cece had seemed all that upset right after it happened._

_“Have you been here before?” Melissa asked._

_“Yeah,” Cece said quietly. “When I was little. We celebrated birthdays here sometimes.”_

_“It would be strange, I think,” Melissa mused, “living some place and having people traipse through it all the time. Just because they want to pick some apples or have a party.”_

_“They probably don’t care,” Cece replied, staring down at the ground. “They have lots of money and other places to live. They still have a real home.” Her voice sounded at once fragile and hard. Uncharacteristic for Cece._

_Melissa stepped in front of her, blocking Cece’s path. “Hey. What’s going on?” she asked._

_Cece shook her head. “Nothing,” she insisted. “I’m tired, that’s all.”_

_“You’re never tired,” Melissa pointed out. “You don’t even get jet-lagged. It’s very annoying.”_

_Cece still wasn’t looking at her, so Melissa motioned toward a clearing up ahead. “C’mon. Let’s sit,” she suggested. Cece didn’t say anything, but she still followed Melissa._

_Melissa set the wine bottle on the ground and slipped off her jacket, spreading it out over the grass for them to sit on. “You’re going to be cold,” Cece warned._

_Melissa shrugged. “I’d rather be cold than get grass stains on these pants.” She patted the spot beside her, and Cece hesitated for one more second before sitting down._

_A memory rushed in then, of Melissa’s whole family picnicking here on sunny afternoons after their baskets were filled with apples. She wondered if they’d ever sat in this exact spot before. She was finding it hard to imagine that any two people had ever been right were she and Cece were at this exact moment. The world seemed so quiet and dark, only illuminated by the nearly-full moon looming overhead._

_“You’ve been quiet tonight,” Melissa observed._

_Melissa couldn’t see Cece’s face all that well in the darkness, but she guessed that Cece was probably trying to look nonchalant. “I told you, I’m tired.”_

_“Is this because of Eric?”_

_Cece shook her head. “No, he was a buffoon. He thought Toni Morrison was a man.”_

_Melissa scoffed. “Idiot. Glad you’re done with him.”_

_Cece tilted her head up toward the sky, and Melissa took in the shape of her silhouette. She was so still she could have been a painting, and the moonlight cast a bluish hue over her skin, almost making her appear to be underwater._

_She was beautiful._

_Finally, Cece spoke again. “If you were acting as smart as I know you are,” she said softly, “you’d run far away from me and never look back.”_

_Melissa frowned. “What are you talking about?”_

_“I can’t explain it to you,” Cece continued, still staring ahead. “But I’m…I’m like a powder keg of a human being. No one gets close to me without getting hurt.”_

_“You’re being very dramatic right now.”_

_Cece turned her head, just a little. Enough so that Melissa could see that her eyes looked slightly wet. “I promise that I’m not.”_

_Melissa shook her head, needing so badly to successfully dismiss each and every one of Cece’s doubts. To get this argument thrown right out of court. She took Cece’s hand, pleased when Cece didn’t pull away. “I could be inside that party chatting it up with twenty different guys. They’d be eating out of the palm of my hand.”_

_“I know,” Cece said. “I could do the same thing.”_

_“But I’m not,” Melissa said firmly. “I’m out here with you instead. And do you want to know the reason?”_

_Cece squared her shoulders. “Yeah,” she stated. “What’s the reason?”_

_The words died on Melissa’s lips. Her mouth went dry as the implications of the statement hit her._

_She didn’t want any of those twenty different guys. She didn’t want anyone who wasn’t Cece._

_Maybe Cece saw the shift in her eyes, or maybe she just read her mind, because she cleared her throat and brushed off her jeans with one hand. “We should get back,” she said with authority. “Sooner or later, someone will come looking for us.”_

_“Cece,” Melissa breathed._

_“Come on,” Cece urged. She was still holding Melissa’s hand, and as she started to stand she gently pulled Melissa to her feet and handed her the wine bottle. Then in one fluid motion, she grabbed Melissa’s jacket off the ground, shook it off, and draped it around Melissa’s shoulders._

_They didn’t say another word on the walk back, but they held hands the entire time._

\--

Leaving Baby Charlotte with Spencer has to be one of the hardest things Melissa has ever done, but she knows it’s a necessity, if she’s going to find Charlotte. Her parents would probably pay Miles Corwin double what Melissa paid him in order to tail her, and then she’d never get Charlotte back. She’d spend the rest of her life wondering what could have been.

Baby Charlotte will be okay. If something bad happens to Melissa, her daughter is too young to remember her. Better for her to risk her life, than Alison, who has a wife and a child old enough to miss his mother.

Melissa heads to Mexico right away, not giving herself enough time to second-guess the decision. A.D.’s property is in Cancún—of course he would pick a resort town; talk about hiding in plain sight. Melissa brings three different passports with her, just in case. A.D. may be dead, but he could still have people on his payroll.

She flies in as Natalie Jones and books a hotel under that same name. Melissa tries to think like Charlotte, diving right in without letting herself consider jet-lag. She heads to one of A.D.’s properties in the morning, a rather rundown-looking resort a good distance from the water.

She has Charlotte’s picture with her, but she doesn’t know if anyone who works here is genuine, so she works up to the issue, making small talk with the concierge until she determines that he’s a patsy at best.

“I don’t know that woman,” he tells her with an apologetic frown when she shows him the picture.

“Okay, no problem,” she says with forced cheerfulness. “She’s just a friend of mine who probably had too much fun on vacation. Hey, quick question: do you guys have a storm cellar?”

“A storm cellar?” the man repeats, puzzled. “Like a bunker?”

Melissa nods emphatically. “Yeah, exactly like that.”

The man shakes his head. “No, I’m sorry.” Then his eyes light up. “But our sister hotel on the beach does.”

Melissa smiles and slips the man a twenty-dollar bill. In the documents Mona had sent over, the property the concierge had mentioned wasn’t even listed. But when she shows Charlotte’s picture to the next concierge, the woman recognizes her immediately.

“Yes, she was a guest at the hotel some time ago,” she tells Melissa. “I remember because she always made everyone at the front desk laugh with her stories.”

“She stayed at the hotel?” Melissa murmurs, surprised. She pictured Charlotte being in more of a captive situation. 

“She did for a time,” the woman says. “But then she disappeared. Ran right out on her bill.”

“Did you try to contact her?” Melissa asks.

“We were going to,” the woman replies. “And then one of our owners called and told us not to bother. He said he knew this woman and that there had been a mistake.”

Melissa leans forward across the counter. “This owner wouldn’t happened to be deceased, would he?”

The woman nods solemnly, raising an eyebrow. “He did, in fact. About a year and a half ago. How did you know?”

 _Same time as A.D.,_ Melissa recognizes. “I read about it somewhere,” she says dismissively. “May I take a look at your storm cellar?”

The woman still seems perplexed, but less so when Melissa hands her a fifty-dollar bill. Melissa follows the woman to the storm cellar, trying to hold in a gasp when she takes a look around. It’s unmistakably the one from the photograph.

Which means that Charlotte was _here._

\--

_Cece was dating someone new. She wouldn’t tell Melissa anything about him, but that was okay; Melissa didn’t want to know about him anyway. Besides, she and Ian were officially back together, so Cece’s relationship status should have been of no consequence to her._

_Emphasis on_ should _._

_It was the mid-point of summer, and it was hot. Cece had mentioned that she might be vacationing with her boyfriend’s family, but as always, she had been vague about the details, qualifying a couple of times that she wasn’t sure if she’d formally been invited. She seemed almost nervous, which was a strange look on her, to be sure. It also probably meant that she liked this guy a lot, and that thought filled Melissa with the kind of hot rage she usually reserved for the way Ian would sometimes stare at other girls._

_The two of them were spending the day in Philadelphia, without any real agenda in mind. Those were Melissa’s favorite kind of days with Cece: the ones where they might end up sneaking into a cordoned-off section of a museum, or wandering around a library for hours on end, or seeing how many free drinks they could con out of various idiotic men at a swanky bar._

_Today, they had gotten frozen yogurt and then walked around the city for a little while, before Cece announced that air-conditioning was a must, so they popped into Saks Fifth Avenue. Cece immediately located the most expensive dress in the store, and decided one of them had to try it on._

_“It’s over $15,000!” Melissa whispered._

_Cece shrugged, holding up the dress. It wasn’t Melissa’s style, but she had to admit it was gorgeous: strapless, floor-length, chiffon, with a floral pattern on the skirt and burgundy flowers blooming from the bodice. “Well, I should hope so. It’s Dolce & Gabbana. Made in Italy. You want to try it?”_

_Melissa shook her head. She was still a little sticky with sweat, and the thought of ruining such a beautiful and expensive dress gave her heart palpitations. “No, you should. It’ll look better on you anyway.”_

_Cece beamed. “That’s true.” She swanned off toward the dressing room and Melissa trailed behind her. The saleswoman gave them a pointed look as she let Cece into a dressing room, but Cece smiled confidently and walked right in as though she had every intention of purchasing the dress in hand._

_Melissa sat outside on a pink sofa, waiting for Cece’s grand entrance, but a few minutes later Cece called to her from the dressing room. “Melissa, can I get some help, please?”_

_Melissa hopped off the sofa, feeling her stomach immediately swoop. Probably from all that sugar. Cece opened the dressing room door, ushering Melissa inside. “I can’t get the zipper,” she explained._

_Melissa nodded, trying to act casual. It was quite the challenge, though, with Cece looking like that. The dress fit her perfectly, and Melissa found her gaze skittering along Cece’s bare collarbones and shoulders, the skin tanned and looking impossibly soft. Then her eyes snapped back up to Cece’s face, which had a smirk in place that told Melissa she’d been caught staring._

_“The zipper,” Cece said again, deliberately. She turned her back to Melissa, slow enough that she seemed to want Melissa to look at her. The zipper was caught on one of the flowers, about halfway down Cece’s back. Melissa fixed it as quickly as possible, accidentally brushing her fingers along Cece’s skin in the process. She gulped, involuntarily; Cece’s skin was so smooth, smoother than Melissa had even imagined, and it was still warm from their time outside._

_Melissa drew her hands away regretfully. She stepped back from Cece, glancing up in the mirror. She expected to see Cece admiring her own reflection, but she wasn’t._

_She was staring at Melissa. And then she turned back around to face her._

_“I was right,” Melissa said, her breath feeling rather shallow. “It looks wonderful on you.”_

_“I’m not going to buy it,” Cece replied. There was something in her eyes, desire and warmth and a bit of mischief. “Not at full price, at least.”_

_Melissa’s hands were swinging at her sides, as though uncertain of where to go without Cece underneath them. Cece must have noticed, because she caught both of them in her own. Melissa looked down at them, then back up at Cece._

_“The saleswoman will come check on us soon,” Melissa remarked. “We’re the only people back here.”_

_Cece grinned. “That’s good,” she breathed, and before Melissa had time to ponder what that might mean, Cece was leaning toward her. “Can I—?”_

_Melissa’s nod cut her off, and then Cece was kissing her, hungrily. Melissa dropped Cece’s hands to pull her close around the waist, backing her up against the mirror. Cece’s hands were in her hair and on her back, somehow everywhere at once but still not close enough._

_“Sit,” Melissa gasped, trying to help maneuver Cece in her gown onto the small plush bench beside the mirror. Cece managed to sit down and Melissa collapsed half-on top of her, messily straddling Cece’s hips amidst the bunched floral fabric._

_“I want you,” Melissa panted between kisses, and Cece nodded fervently against her face, pressing Melissa tightly against her. Melissa kissed all over Cece’s neck and collarbones, nibbled at her ear. Cece slid her fingers up the back of Melissa’s shirt and unclasped her bra, one-handed._

_It was good, it was so good, but Melissa needed more. She needed all of Cece. Before she could think twice about it, she scrambled off Cece’s lap and onto her knees on the floor. Cece’s eyes looked a little cloudy, as though confused by the lack of contact, before they widened. Melissa lifted the bottom layer of chiffon, hinting._

_“The saleswoman—” Cece whispered._

_“Fuck her,” Melissa said definitively. “Is this okay?”_

_Cece nodded so quickly and aggressively that Melissa would have laughed, were she not so laser-focused. She shoved the chiffon out of the way to the best of her ability, trailing her hands up Cece’s thighs and tugging at her underwear. But then Cece reached a hand out, stilling her, and Melissa glanced up._

_“Do you want me to stop?” she asked._

_“No,” Cece replied. “Just—no matter what happens, don’t forget how good this feels right now, okay?” Her face was a mix of so many emotions that it was unreadable._

_“I won’t,” Melissa promised, wishing she could explain the depths of her certainty to Cece. “I could never.”_

_Cece smiled, taking a shaky breath, and tipped her head back against the wall as Melissa started kissing her way up her thighs._

_The chiffon dress ended up getting ripped along the side, but Cece was somehow able to convince the saleswoman that they had found it that way, so she sold it to them for an eighth of the retail price._

\--

The successful streak of Melissa’s first few days of investigating hits a wall. Not just a wall, but a boulder.

She asks around as much as she can, goes from store to store and bar to bar downtown, visits ten hotels every day. But no Charlotte. People might remember her face or her laugh, but it was from a few months ago, three or four at least. Melissa learns enough to determine that Charlotte is probably alive, which makes her heart feel tight and warm with hope. And yet clearly, Charlotte doesn’t want to be found.

A month passes. Melissa is as tan as she’s ever been, and her hair is starting to look a little lighter from all the sunshine. She’s also beginning to dress like a tourist, which is decidedly unfortunate. Eventually she realizes that she might have to move on from Cancún, but she isn’t sure where she’d go. Charlotte has either left or is hidden so deeply that Melissa has no hope of ever finding her. She asks around for one more week, and finally a shopkeeper gives her a bit of helpful intel.

“She was heading to Belize,” the woman says. “I have friends there, so I told her to look them up.”

Melissa books another flight and is in Belize by the afternoon. She tries again to think like Charlotte, visiting every fancy hotel and eventually the shabby ones. She exhausts herself with looking. In the hottest part of the day, she’ll frequently see a watery, blurry image of Charlotte up ahead on the horizon. It’s never her, of course. Nor are any of the blonde tourists Melissa is constantly accosting on the streets.

Time becomes loose and formless. Melissa starts to feel like a conspiracy theorist with a board covered in photographs and red string, except instead of a board she has a notebook filled with barely legible scraps of information. She misses home, though whether it’s London or Rosewood, she isn’t even sure. She misses Baby Charlotte so badly she almost calls Spencer. But she disconnected her phone as soon as she got here, wanting to remain off the grid as much as possible.

On a tip she travels from Belize to Guatemala. She keeps her head down, working hard. Staying focused. And then one day, close to four months into her journey, she gets something solid.

A restaurant owner takes one look at Charlotte’s picture and smiles. He doesn’t speak English, so he gestures for his son to come over. The young man snaps his fingers when he sees the picture. “That’s Charlotte!” he declares. “She was staying with my cousin.”

“Your cousin?” Melissa breathes.

The young man nods. “Just up the road. You can go talk to her.”

Melissa does just that, meeting a kind woman in her early twenties who says that Charlotte was helping out at the restaurant and needed a place to stay. “She left here a week ago,” the woman explains.

A week ago. Which means that after months of running, Melissa isn’t too far behind.

\--

_Melissa found out the whole story piecemeal, after Spencer’s prom. Some from her mother, some from her father, some from reading the news._

_Spencer didn’t tell her much._

_This much she knew: Cece,_ her _Cece, was actually named Charlotte DiLaurentis. And she was A. She had an awful childhood, was locked away and neglected, denied and abused. It might have been an explanation. But it wasn’t an excuse._

 _They hadn’t spoken in years. Cece had disappeared from Melissa’s life after that family trip with her boyfriend—_ Jason, _it was Jason all along, and the truth of that made Melissa’s stomach turn. Melissa had tried to put her out of mind, had decided that what they’d had was just a moment in time, just one of many experiences Melissa would take to her grave._

_As with everything concerning her feelings for Cece, it had been easier said than done._

_But there had been a lot of things Melissa had wanted to forget from that summer. Time had passed, and Wren had entered her life, humiliated her, and then left. Ian had done the same thing. Wash, rinse, repeat._

_London had been a distraction—a necessary one, at first, once Alison had returned, undeniably alive, and Melissa had realized what she’d done, and eventually a semi-permanent one. Wren had worked his way back under her skin, though not in a forever kind of way._

_And then it all came tumbling out. Everything about Cece. About Charlotte. Melissa had thought of their time together as an escape from her own life, but for Cece—for_ Charlotte— _it truly had been an escape. A literal getaway from a lifetime of locked doors and solitude._

_Melissa felt more than she could articulate. Rage, at Charlotte, but at herself, too, for letting someone get so close. Hurt, because it had been real, for her at least. And sorrow. For herself. For Charlotte. Even for Alison._

_Melissa waited six months to return home. She told herself it was because of work and her family, which were both part of it. Charlotte was the other part. Because Melissa was certain that if she came back to Rosewood, the desire to visit would be overwhelming. For the first time since the two of them had met, Melissa knew exactly where Charlotte was. How often had she longed for that, during all their months of friendship and flirtation?_

_Eventually she made the trip to Welby, and Charlotte agreed to meet with her. She looked tired, but maybe it was just the lack of makeup. Either way, it was jarring to see her like that._

_“Should I call you Charlotte?” Melissa asked as they sat across from each other, her voice cold but without malice. She received a nod in return._

_“You probably hate me,” Charlotte remarked._

_Melissa said nothing. She didn’t hate Charlotte. But she wasn’t ready to admit that._

_“Remember that day in the dressing room?” Charlotte asked._

_“Of course I do,” Melissa said softly, her eyes starting to prick with tears. She looked down at Charlotte’s fingers, tracing figure-eights on the table. Being in such a stark place with her felt tremendously strange. Though everything about this experience did._

_“I messed up my zipper on purpose,” Charlotte confessed. She sounded just a hair teary herself. “I didn’t plan for all that, but I just—I wanted to see your reaction to me.”_

_Melissa nodded, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. She recalled how much she loved those days together, when they would find themselves on spontaneous adventures. But Charlotte had always been ten steps ahead, had probably thought through exactly where they would end up._

_“It wasn’t pretend for me, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Charlotte continued._

_Melissa thought about Spencer, spending weeks in that horrible Dollhouse. Melissa had seen the pictures online after it happened, the room Charlotte had fashioned to look exactly like Spencer’s._

_“Would you take it back?” Melissa asked. “Hurting them like that?”_

_Charlotte looked into her eyes. Her gaze was almost tender. “I would do things differently,” she replied. “I know that people aren’t dolls, I know that. But they were all I had.”_

You had me _, Melissa thought, automatically. Charlotte might have guessed that’s where her mind went, because she added, “You wouldn’t have stuck around if you knew everything.”_

_“I would have,” Melissa insisted. “Back then, before you did those things. I would have.”_

_Charlotte shook her head, like she didn't quite believe Melissa. “This started because of Alison,” she murmured. “And then it just got out of my control.”_

_Melissa thought about the night it all began. The night that Bethany Young died, the night that Alison was hit over the head. She and Charlotte must have missed each other by minutes in the yard. Melissa had played that night over and over again in her head, wishing she made another choice. Trying to find a way to forgive herself._

_At the time, Melissa had believed she was helping her sister._

_Apparently, Charlotte had believed the same thing._

\--

Melissa has a prepaid cell phone, in case of emergencies. She hasn’t used it, and no one has the number. Or at least that’s what she thinks, until it starts ringing early one morning.

The noise terrifies her. She can imagine the voice on the other end: _“Stop looking, or else.”_ She hasn’t encountered anyone on A.D.’s payroll—as far as she knows—but that doesn’t mean someone isn’t out there. And she’s so close, too; is in fact leaving her hotel in Guatemala City to head further east, where she’s been told Charlotte might have headed.

Melissa is in a crowded square, so at least if this is a threat, there are people around. Shakily, she answers the phone.

“Turn around,” a voice demands. A female voice. A very familiar one.

Tears spring to Melissa’s eyes. “Charlotte?” she whispers.

“I said, turn round,” the voice repeats. Melissa breathes in slowly. This could be it, she realizes.  She does as she’s told, and about a hundred feet away from her, wearing a giant floppy hat and a smile, is Charlotte DiLaurentis.

Melissa hears a noise come out of her own mouth, something between a cry and a guffaw of laughter, and then she’s running toward Charlotte, her heavy backpack sliding off her back and onto the concrete. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care about anything. Her body hits Charlotte’s hard, knocking Charlotte’s hat right off, and Charlotte is lifting her off the ground, giggling into her hair. They hug so tightly that Melissa can’t breathe, though she couldn’t really breathe anyway, so it’s okay.

Then Melissa pulls back slightly to look at Charlotte’s face. She’s tan, tanner than Melissa, and probably a little thinner than she should be. But her eyes are bright and her hair is shiny, and she might just be the best sight Melissa has ever seen.

“Come on,” Charlotte urges. “I’m staying at a little hotel right near here. It’s a short walk.”

Melissa has so much she wants to say, but she can’t access it just yet. So she follows behind Charlotte, holding her hand tightly as they weave through the crowd. The walk is short, less than  five minutes, and then they’re up in Charlotte’s room, alone for the first time in what feels like forever.

They’re standing in the middle of the room, and Charlotte is still holding Melissa’s hand. Melissa steps forward, arching an eyebrow, and when Charlotte nods Melissa doesn’t think twice about kissing her, just like she didn’t think twice about trying to find her. Charlotte leads them over to the bed, kissing Melissa all the while. 

As Charlotte sheds her clothes and helps Melissa do the same, Melissa wonders if maybe they have transcended speech, if maybe they’ve crossed over into a land where words don’t even matter, where the only way to communicate is through two bodies working in tandem, two hearts finally beating in time with one another.

\--

_Charlotte died, but it was like her presence loomed over everything, like every person in the town had been touched by her in some way._

_Melissa remembered when Alison used to feel that way._

_Charlotte died, cold and alone, probably. Hit in the back by a coward. Melissa hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. They hadn’t seen each other in years. Charlotte had called Wren up at one point or another, spilling the beans about Bethany Young, but Melissa had known what that was really about; Charlotte had been asking for attention. She had been asking for Melissa to come home._

_Melissa had been furious, refusing to have her bluff called like that. She had gotten drunk and yelled at Hanna Marin in a women's bathroom—Hanna Marin, of all people, because of course even in fucking_ England _Melissa couldn't escape Spencer and her little friends._

_Melissa could tell that Spencer was suspicious of her, because Spencer was always suspicious of her. Melissa thought about confronting Spencer, about telling her that not only had she not killed Charlotte, but she’d actually known her way before Spencer had. Not just known her, but cared for her, been her friend, fucked her even, and it had nothing to do with Spencer whatsoever._

_The thought was satisfying, but Melissa kept quiet. She went back to London and tried to move on. She learned, months later, about Mary Drake. One more secret between the DiLaurentis and Hastings family, one more vow broken. And then she found out, gratefully, that Charlotte may have been Spencer’s sister, but she wasn’t Melissa’s. Thank god. Melissa was still reeling from the revelation that she’d made out with Jason more than once._

_More time passed. Spencer was more reclusive than usual, but Melissa was acting the same way so it didn’t particularly faze her. She considered calling Spencer, sharing that they both had a complicated connection to this complicated woman, but she didn’t. And then the one year anniversary of Charlotte’s death arrived, and Melissa went out and got drunk enough that faces started to blur. She danced with a guy who was equally wasted, then took him back to her flat._

_She had stopped taking birth control months ago, after Wren moved out, but she had a vague recollection of a condom. Though it must have broken, because three weeks later her period still hadn’t come._

_Melissa took the pregnancy test with shaking hands. She should have been more careful._ You’re a Hastings, _she reminded herself, the voice in her head sounding eerily like Charlotte’s._ A Hastings can’t afford to make mistakes.

_She was pregnant. She considered an abortion for all of two hours, before recognizing that she might not get many more chances. She could do this alone. Plenty of people did, and most of them weren’t half as smart as she was._

_Melissa decided right off the bat that she wasn’t going to tell anyone in her family until she had mastered parenthood. She wasn’t about to show up on her parents’ doorstep in tears. Not again._

_She lied to everyone. She had gotten pretty good at that._

_Melissa went into labor at work, and her boss stayed with her in the ambulance. The nurses asked if they could call anyone, but Melissa shook her head resolutely, even though she wanted her mom. She wanted Charlotte. Hell, she even wanted Spencer._

_But she had no one. The pain was horrible, as bad as she’d always been told. And then eight hours later, she had a baby. A little girl._

_“What do you want to name her?” the nurse asked._

_Melissa looked down at the scrunched, pink baby in her arms._ Okay, _she thought._ It’s you and me.

_“Charlotte,” she decided. “I’m naming her Charlotte.”_

\--

Hours later, they’re sprawled out in bed, still wrapped up in one another. They’ve been telling stories back and forth, true ones, comparing notes to see what they got right about one another. 

“A.D. did let me out at first,” Charlotte confirms. “Maybe to show me off, maybe it was a power thing, I don’t really know. But when he realized I was starting to make friends, he locked me up, for good.”

Melissa shivers, just the thought of Charlotte being locked away again making her nauseous. “How did you get out?”

“There was a code outside,” Charlotte explains, running a hand softly along Melissa’s bicep. “I figured out what it was, but I knew that I had to be careful when I tried it. Eventually I got my chance. He stopped checking in, so I figured he was either dead or traveling.”

“You were right about one of those,” Melissa says.

Charlotte nods. “I didn’t know for sure, though. So I started moving around. I thought he might know where to look, so I tried to mix it up. Staying at a nice or hotel or in a busy city, then spending a week at someone’s house in the country.”

“It worked,” Melissa says with a small smile. “You were very hard to find.”

“I knew that someone was looking for me these past few months,” Charlotte tells her. “At first I thought it was him, or someone on his payroll. But then I thought maybe it was you, or Ali. So I started using my real name. I was still so hidden, though.” She raises Melissa’s hand to her lips, lightly kissing her fingers. “You really persevered.”

“I did.” She takes a deep breath. “I gave up a lot to come here. Including my daughter.”

Charlotte’s eyes widen. “You have a daughter?”

“Yeah,” Melissa says. “I wasn’t sure if you knew, somehow—”

“I didn’t.” Charlotte blinks, taking that in. She doesn’t look concerned, just genuinely surprised. “What’s her name?”

Melissa bites her lip. “Her name is Charlotte.”

Charlotte’s face softens, and she seems to be almost at a loss for words. “Well,” she says after a beat. “That’s going to get awfully confusing.”

Melissa rolls her eyes, even as she feels herself starting to get emotional. “I miss her. So much. But I had to come find you.”

“That’s incredible,” Charlotte says quietly. “I—I didn’t know you would fight for me like that.”

“I didn’t know either,” Melissa admits. “But when I found out you might be alive, I had to do it.” She shifts slightly, so she can look deeply into Charlotte’s eyes. “It turns out that I’m in love with you.”

“You are?”

“Yes,” Melissa says, as sure as she’s ever been about anything. She hadn’t put a name to the feeling until right now, but she knows in her bones how true it is.

“I’ve never been in love with anyone,” Charlotte tells her. “No one but you.”

Melissa exhales, letting the warmth of the statement wash over her. “Not Rollins? Or Dunhill—whatever his name was?”

Charlotte shakes her head firmly. “He was a pawn in a necessary game. And I wish Ali hadn’t gotten mixed up in it.”

“You’ll get to see her soon,” Melissa realizes.

“I want to,” Charlotte murmurs. “I don’t want to hide anymore. And I want to be with you, and your kid. I promise to teach her how to break into safes.”

Melissa grins. “I’m sure once she’s developed her fine motor skills, she’ll love that.” She sighs, happily. “We can go home.”

“Where’s home?” Charlotte asks. “Rosewood? London? D.C.? Paris is always nice, of course, though so pretentious.”

Melissa tugs Charlotte closer so she can feel her, solid and definitively here. She isn’t letting her go again. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Melissa declares. “As long as we’re together.”


End file.
